Category: indie adventures

I just read yet another super Anti-Black piece of trash in a “well regarded” supposedly venerable publication.

Okay I have fucking questions.

So, in the past few years I’ve not been trying to get as involved with lit world fuckery. That said, I see it. I watch publications publish and pay for boldly Anti Black, racist, transphobic shit and y’all just…

I have mother fucking questions.

Nobody can ever tell me why these are the voices folks choose to put forward. Or why aside from mealy mouthed declarations of freedom of speech, that those things need space.

And then so many of those pubs turn around and brag about their commitment to diversity.

Y’all.

Can I be honest?

Shit like this, is what propels me out of the lit world.

In 2016 I made less than 30 submissions. And most of them were rejected.Most of hte stuff I’ve gotten published that I haven’t done myself has been solicited.

It’s not for lack of done work. It’s because I don’t want to have to wade through the ugly shit to see if I even should submit. I don’t want my name associated with venerable well paying publications that like to post racist or whatever shitty shit without comment except, oooh freedom of speech.

Man.

I have to deal with that.

I have to deal with sooper seekrit lady writer groups where I’ve opened my big ass mouth about injsutices, and said no to whiteness and worry about being told that editors will tell other editors that I might be a problem or hard to work with. I have to deal with the very real thing (that has happened but not lately) of having my ideas stolen and fucked up because I asked my “peers” for advice.

And I have to be able to actually write the shit and not have it come out only FUCK FUCK FUCK MOTHER OF FUCK.

Maybe it is getting older or maybe it is the fact that this election has pretty much destroyed any chill I had left but I just don’t want to do it.

I have SCLAB to do and that is my heart. And I can’t do that if my heart is torn to shreds because the lit world is a burning garbage fire on the regular.

I am so frustrated.

I am angry.

I am so tired.

I feel like my opportunities in the lit world are shrinking.

I have a submission almost ready because someone told me I should submit to their thing. I have a few more like that.

What I don’t have is the strength or girded loins to do deep market research anymore because I keep running into this bullshit.

I dunno y’all.

2017 might be the year I go full indie because I just can’t deal with this AND do my art.

Right now in our political climate in the US, folks like me are not only dealing with our usual shit but also the added terror of worrying about being attacked, watching our White “allies” forget how to say White Supremacy, being called on for extra emotional/intellectual labor, having to (for my fellow writers this one is especially terrible right now) watch our White lady ‘allies’ do the most in order to get our help/labor for their own work and they offer nothing in return.

Over at Patreon I posted a chapter from my OG Daiyuverse and talked a bit about a chunk of plot I took out of the story. Here have a looksy.

I want to talk a bit more about staying in my lane and how I’m looking to pull inspiration from other cultures in this particular verse.

My particular situation arose from a subplot involving a cultural misunderstanding between a Creole Skinwalker and a young Navajo man over the name Skinwalker. The Creole boys people are able to literally walk in the skin of animals by psychically occupying their consciousness. Navajo Skinwalkers are not that in any way.

While I was making notes and researching this, my uppermost concern was that I wasn’t just being appropriative and grabby because it could make for a shiny bit of conflict. I am working really hard on creating ways of bringing together disparate cultures and creating magical traditions within those cultures and not falling on OH MAGICAL NEGRO tropes.

This bit of storyline in particular, I think I can do without being disrespectful, but in terms of the Daiyuverse it may not happen there. I’m not trying to be hamfisted about it. Also, I wasn’t entirely ready to talk about things like tribal solidarity and how that wound function in a sort of pancultural thing like The Institute, how could a Navajo sorcerer reconcile sharing his cultural religious practices AND his magic with outsiders?

I didn’t have answers for that so- bloop plotline put aside.

And this is where I say, I’m gonna stay in my damn lane.

Too many writers I see decide to take something shiny from a culture and run with it without there being a foundation of understanding of both the shiny bits and the struggles of a culture. Personally, I think that is how we wind up with so many Magical Negroes, and sooper spiritual Native folks etc. Too many people don’t take the time to dig deeper and work from a space where yes, YAY magical and brown, but also, this is shit going on within that culture that would shape this character.

For me, this is where I’ve seen things like the Strong Black Woman that don’t need nobody tropes come from and flourish. Even other Black writers can fall into the trap of wanting so badly to create a bad ass amazing character, that they forget that nobody can be that all the time. In the need to defy negative stereotypes, folks forget the squishy bloodiness that makes us human and characters become cardboard cutouts.

I’m currently re-reading Midnight Taxi Tango: A Bone Street Rumba by my homie Daniel José Older and this is an area where I will point to and say LOOK at how he builds the humanity of his characters through their moments of weakness. In his universe, he’s populated this book with bad ass killers. These are mother fuckers you should be afraid of.

My personal favorite character Reza (if you haven’t read the book read this short and meet her) is one of the folks to be scared of. She’s confident and a gangster and through her swag and gun toting badassery, we see her afraid. We get to see her heart aching for Angie. We see her in full vengeance mode and she’s a person.

Daniel took what could have been a badass butch cardboard cutout of a gangster and gave her a pulse.

In the context of my own work, especially within this urban fantasy Seattle/US I’m building, I’m paying close attention to the people who are inhabiting this world. I want them to have life and pulses and I don’t want to reread what I’ve done and wind up rolling my eyes cause I’ve not taken enough care to incorporate what I feel is important into the framework of these people.

I’m also taking an opportunity to poke some meta fun at Whiteness tropes. Especially in terms of the hippy dippy pretendian White lady fucking things up with her ignorance and sealioning (I JUST learned that word and it fit so perfectly in what I had notes about doing) causing problems with the legit magical culture in this world. I’m also doing it in an urban fantasy short that makes fun of the Whiteness of Elves type fantasy and the justification of it being “tradition”.

An interesting side effect of not only Turnip Winning but also of my own reactions and health is that, I’ve found a certain freedom I’ve not felt before and I’ll talk about it more when I don’t have a cold.

That’s all for right now y’all. I’m at work and really tired and about to pound coffee and pie until my teeth vibrate.

I will probably be doing some more process/craft nerdery soon because I have many thoughts.

Okay, so, in this post election Trumpfuckian* nightmare, being that I am a creator of things, I have been creating things.

I already published one essay about my real feelings post election. Find it here at Medium. I put a general content warning on it for everything. If you’re feeling fragile do not read.

Ahem.

If you’ve been here for more than five minutes you could fairly say, I have a salty tongue. I’m a foul mouthed heathen. I use the Seven Dirty Words quite liberally in my work.

I have long understood that because I stand by my bad words as being necessary, that precludes me being published a lot of places. I get it. I know.

I know I am a difficult sell even when I’m not saying mother fucker every few words and it’s okay. I made peace with that.

I. know.

Now, before I was totally done with the essay, I had a nibble of interest that quickly turned into a, well if you (insert edits that would strip it of it’s power and turn it into Nice Black Lady Pap+end with hope I don’t feel) and I am not with that.

Now, since I published it myself, the reception has been pretty great. Way less pushback than I expected, some folks saw fit to use my tip jar and send some donations which is incredible. I’m about that life.

That said, I find it interesting that when I’m completely naked honest, I’m talking ass out bucky ass nekkid- I self publish and things tend to go well.

I take that same energy and what I think is an integral part of my voice to the markets and I fail. Miserably.

My literary partner in let us call it impending Unfuckwithableness Milcah has pointed out to me, I’ve succeeded when I’m just 100% about who I am and not trying to pretend.

It’s true.

And we come back around to me being me and my, uh, not quite fitting a lot of the narrative places have of what they want to say.

For instance, some okay, no let me be real about it all of my poetry lately has been bloody, bleak, and not uplifting. Basically how I’m feeling. I clocked some very swift rejections for a piece I’ll put at Ink node later on. Keep your eye out here.

Being rejected doesn’t but me by itself. What bothers me are the notes that came with the rejections about how these pubs are going for Hope and Unity and Feelgoodness (my word) right now.

But why isn’t there room for me too?

I really hate the idea that we as creators must immediately go to the hope and not document our grief and rage. My grief, my rage isn’t going to end with all of us holding hands and singing Old Negro Spirituals.

It’s going to end in blood because that’s how I feel.

There’s room for more than happy uplift.

There is space for those who are despairing and only know to make art or otherwise create to help get through it.

I’ve talked to some friends and a lot of us are in this same boat. We need to scream and make bloody rage filled art and we’d like for it to be valued as much as the uplift and shiny hope.

So yanno, if you have space, consider making space for us less shiny minded folks.

First up, please enjoy a little video of me reading my story The Beloved of Colel Cab you may need to crank the volume, my new phone isn’t the greatest for video but here you go. Feel free to share it, like it, subscribe to my youtube channel. I will have more lit vids coming.

If you’d like a copy to read or read along (I am working on a good transcript) click here it is available as a free post at my Patreon.

Like this:

Or I could call this survival in the face of White Supremacy clocking a big win.

If I’ve questioned myself as an artist lately, last night and today changed my mind.

I don’t know a lot of things. Including what my future holds, but I know this. I know why Trump won and I’m not surprised. If you are surprised, you’ve not paid attention to what people like me have been saying.

White Supremacy is a mother fucker.

The only reason I was with her was because I didn’t want this.

In the last couple of weeks I’ve been having nightmares, I’ve been anxiety shitting and living with aimless terror.

Today I’m enraged.

I’m angry on multiple fronts. Last night I wrote this poem because I had to remember that’s what I know how to do.

Now I need to talk about something else entirely.

This is a real bad time for so called progressives to be abusing POC creators. Don’t ask us to contribute for free. Don’t ask us to continue to do the heavy lifting. Don’t turn to use to teach you how to fight, how to organize or where to pitch your bullshit.

Already just today I’ve had to fend off queries from folks who admire me and my work and my social justice warrior shit and who love me so much and value me so much, they want me to work for them for free. They want me to give what amounts to consults and talks and special writing and help placing their own work about this clusterfuck of a moment and offer zero compensation.

I woke up to several emails from different white people who are these type of fans. Not one of them offered me anything in return.

Not boosts for my various funding links.

Not a fucking Uber.

People in my direct community are terrified. Trans kids have been harming themselves. Friends who are in similar or worse financial straits as I am, have been questioning the purpose of them continuing to live and these mother fuckers want me to lean the fuck in?

White people.

White women, especially I’m talking to you right now.

How. Dare. You.

How DARE you try so hard to co-opt the struggles of MY foremothers the DAY after all you could talk about were your White Suffragette faves.

How DARE you disrespect us and expect us to come running to work for you for free.

We are not your goddamn mules.

We did not make this happen.

This post was partially spurred by my friend Wagatwe Sara Wanjuki. This happened to her today as well.

Now, any time people ask me to do shit for free, there is a process I go through to figure it out.

I will generally consider it more heavily from POC and Queer folks. For instance, when Yellow Chair offered space for WOC I jumped. I needed that. Offering space is something a lot of us need.

That is entirely different than one email I got in particular urging me to come lead some folks and make space for them and basically hold their hands and lead them to the promised land. They wanted my time, my work (work done just for them), step into a position of some type of instructor/mentor/Sweet Negress- I mean overall the outlined “position” was a fuck ton of fucking work.

If I did that, it would amount to probably a good 18-25 hours a week of unpaid work on top of my 12 hour dayjob.

I didn’t even count meatspace time.

Now, I dunno about y’all but I work on a limited number of spoons this is unreasonable.

Beyond that, this person and I are acquainted. Well we were, she blocked me on social media after I let her know how inappropriate her ask is. She KNOWS my situation in life. She KNOWS how hard I need to hustle to both survive AND create.

She used that whole well solidarity and racism is bad…yo.

You want to fight the good fight? Fucking fund it.

Look at my friend Wagatwe’s project here. You want to do some good? Stop giving your money to big ass faceless shit. Put up or shut the fuck up.

We (I will speak for Wagatwe here as well) have been doing the work. We are struggling so fucking hard, her in many similar and different ways than me.

And you have the gall to demand we show you solidarity?

Nah son.

Bitches can’t eat love or adoration or admiration.

We gotta eat.

So you know what? Don’t ask us to be your mule for solidarity.

Pay us what we’re worth.Go to Wagatwe’s facebook page and say, I value your work where do I send my money?

First thing is I FINALLY got a new fucking phone. I’ve discovered that I write the best poetry on my phone and only when I’m using the Memo app. I don’t know why.

I like this app, it’s the one that came with my phone. Here are some of the things:

I’ve been writing new poems, prose poems and little fiction ideas on this memo app.

I also use the Word app, but I don’t like it as much. I need to see most of what I’ve written so using it on the phone screen isn’t ideal.

How else?

I don’t know.

My tablet is great so far. I haven’t named it yet, but I might call it Tiny because it’s small and I find using a 10″ keyboard a bit challenging but I’m into it. I’m struggling with taking it out of the house because I’m afraid I will break my nice little thing but I’m working on it.

I’m writing more than I feel like I am. I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year, but I’m aiming to keep up my productivity. It does low key feel like I’m spinning my wheels because nothing I’m working on in a serious manner will be published soon. I closed out my last couple of outstanding pitches, crickets at one a nice but very bland rejection on the other.

I am going to allow myself a bit of self-pity and wallowing regarding the pitches. One I thought would be amazing and then I saw that they published something sorta similar but frankly not as well as I could have done it.

I was a little salty, but I see which way the wind blows about it. I understand logically that yes, a lot of what I have to say on particular subjects is just too radical and out there for a lot of publications. It’s fine, but it sucks.